To understand Medium, it’s important to know that it is a
project conceived and executed by Ev Williams and Biz Stone, the guys behind
Blogger and Twitter. So first they created a service where everyone can have a
personal soapbox from which to publish online, and then they made a tool we use
to tell people about content, ours and that we find interesting.

Which brings us to Medium. It (already) has essays on a wide
variety of topics. When you arrive at the site, you log in with your Twitter
account—there’s no facility to sign up any other way for now. Once you’re in,
you can choose to look at Posts
(the default view), which hosts a seemingly random (more on that in
a sec) and rotating group of posts, or Collections, which displays clusters of posts on
similar topics.

As I looked through various essays, it quickly became clear that
the content is blog-like. But it is different,
and I’ll be curious to see how users define it as different
based on their usage. I noticed it to be generally more focused and quite
considered. This probably has something to do with the super-simple and elegant
posting interface, which gives authors the opportunity to focus on what they’re
saying, rather than the bells and whistles around their words.

In his Welcome Post, Ev Williams provides some
insight into what Medium will become:

Lots of
services have successfully lowered the bar for sharing information, but there’s
been less progress toward raising the quality of what’s produced.

It’s
not too late to rethink how online publishing works and build a system
optimized for quality, rather than popularity. Where anyone can have a voice
but where one has to earn the right to your attention. A system where people
work together to make a difference, rather than merely compete for validation
and recognition. A world where thought and craftsmanship is rewarded more than
knee-jerk reactions.

So, curation.

On Twitter, I follow people who share content that is meaningful
to me. They are my curators. Given that Medium is linked to Twitter, I can see
that it could become a venue where a community of my choosing helps me know
what to read. At the moment, anyone can “Recommend” a post, which impacts
whether it shows up in the default Posts view. So it turns out those
posts aren't random, and I imagine the tech minds at Medium are
considering how to add qualitative elements to this process (although there is
more behind that Recommend button than one might think, which is explained here).

I’m not a fan of the term “platform” because I find it to be
overused to the point that it’s losing its meaning. But Medium is, in fact and
practice, a platform. It is a venue to post text (as distinct from graphic or
video) content. Publishing on Medium is, in a word, simple. When creating a new
post, you choose one featured image (or not), and then type in your title and
text. You can add basic formatting to your text—Headline and Subhead, Bold,
Italic, Quotation—and links, but nothing else. This post describes it more elegantly. Oh, and
can I just say, hooray for em dashes.

Once you've typed to your heart’s content, you click
Publish. That’s it. You can choose to post one essay in multiple Collections,
but there are no buttons to put it on Twitter or Facebook or Google+…or
anywhere else, for that matter.

Like any good start-up, Medium isn't doing everything
perfectly. I've been told they’re going overboard with email
marketing that isn't providing a clear call-to-action or explaining
to recipients what they’re doing and why they should care. They seem to have
done a swell job of identifying influencers, but have been a bit less stellar
when it comes to giving those folks a reason to participate at this early
stage. I’m sure they’ll figure it out—after all, who among
us didn't roll our eyes when we first heard about Twitter?

Because the content on Medium is dynamic (I had some fun
yesterday watching it rotate), emailing influential prospective users with
links to essays that might or might not be relevant to them (I've heard
reports of this) doesn't seem awfully helpful. When you’re asking
someone to participate these days, it’s important to explain exactly what
you’re asking her or him to do in so many words (i.e., “Please come to
Medium.com, sign in with your Twitter account, click on a collection to which
you’d like to contribute…” or “Please come to Medium.com and explore the
collections; when you read something you like, click Recommend.”).

In the end, new online stuff (technical term, that) is all about
what need it is filling. I've concluded
that Medium is indeed filling a need, namely a platform that is accessible and
simple, which creates the opportunity for effective content curation. It’s
early days yet, and so how exactly they accomplish this remains to be seen.

If you
have thoughts to share that you want to impact or influence people with—beyond
just your friends and beyond 140 characters—we want to provide the tools and
the place.

Medium is quite obviously a work in progress, but it seems to be
heading somewhere rather than being destined to languish in “lots of users
doing nothing” land. I wish them well, and look forward to watching what
happens.

November 29, 2012

Listen, I’m not going to lie, I’ve had a lot of Red Bull
today, and on top of that, for the first 22 hours of the day I was pretty sure I was going to win the
$500,000,000 up for grabs in the Powerball, so when I tell you I’m wired, I mean to tell you that this has
approximately a 50/50 chance of being coherent. You have been warned.

There are three things I’d like to discuss today.

The first, no longer relevant, is the $500,000,000 that I’ve
already started spending. If that kind of check ended up in my bank account, I
want you to know that I would have overpaid a lot of authors. Not because it
would make business sense, there wouldn’t be any chance of turning a profit,
but knowing that folks who bring so much joy to others with their writing got
paid enough to buy a house and a Chevy Volt or a Monster Truck (they still
driving ‘em in Williamsburg, Brooklyn?), well that would be payment enough.
Because let’s be honest, dudes getting paid $2,500,000 to oversee Twinkie
production at a failing business is ten times more obscene than an author not
earning out an advance for a really brilliant book. I accidentally bought
tickets for the next ten drawings, so even though the jackpot will be
significantly smaller the next few times out, I’ve got a good chance of winning
(if I understand mathematics).

The second thing we should discuss is the end of November.
More specifically, the end of November that brings the end of NaNoWriMo. I know
others have already covered this elsewhere, but let me join the chorus of, “Hey!
Great! The first draft of your 73,000 word epic The Absolute Justice Swindle of Extreme Revenge is done and you
are e-x-c-i-t-e-d, but you totally need to edit that thing over the next few
months before sending it to an agent or an editor.” I respect you for your
commitment this month, I personally gave up on November 2nd. I totally
understand your enthusiasm and your desire to share your work with the world.
But, you’ve got one chance to get the best book you can muster to the market,
don’t blow it by rushing it. Yes, yes, you can
have it up on Amazon for Kindle by December 1st, but you shouldn’t. The novel
needs to follow a proper life trajectory. Though a four year old can wield a
shovel with some grace, we no longer throw them to the side of the road to dig
ditches expecting a competent hole to be dug.

The third thing—and this maybe isn’t cool of me—but I want
to address the whole “Big Six” publisher getting involved with vanity
publishing thing. It doesn’t surprise me to see one of these companies get wrapped
up in the shenanigans. I understand that some dude in a business suit was like,
“Damn, how can we boost our bottom line with little risk or capital investment?”
And then some other dude in another suit who wants the first suit’s job was
all, “We can charge obscene amounts of money to unsuspecting aspirants to do
questionably helpful things.”

That’s how you get people offering to be your Social Media
Sherpa for $5,000, guiding you through websites that are already
trending towards obsolete, aren’t actual sales vehicles, and sound really
really important, but, you know, aren’t. Don't believe me? I don't blame you. But here's an article from the Wall Street Journal talking about the value of Facebook, Twitter, and others as a sales vehicle.

If I had an employee who put together a similar services
offered and pricing grid, I’d immediately demand a piss test not to see if
he/she was on drugs, but to establish which color of paint he/she was huffing in the
bathroom during the 10:15 coffee break.

Here are my predictions:

This isn’t going to be a substantial generator
of revenue. These types of businesses have been around for the better part of a
decade, writers are savvier than they once were, the whole “indie writer”
movement has empowered authors to understand the economic realities of
publishing. With so many readily available essays about self-publishing/indie
author/guerilla wordsmithing, not many, if any, authors are going to stumble
into one of these packages.

The prices will be adjusted to something
more...reasonable(?)...but by then it’ll be too late. The internet is already
afire with talk about this being one more example of “legacy publishing” being
tone deaf and out of touch. Any
backtracking will look like either capitulation OR a confession of poor
planning, neither of which would be good for an industry leader.

Then again, what the hell do I know? I’m just some guy on
the internet, playing the lottery, dispensing half-assed advice to writers.

November 28, 2012

This isn’t an insecure existential (or whatever) crisis about the nature of identity or the meaning of my paltry existence. Typepad won’t let me put italics on the title. It should read Who the hell am I?

So skip the existential bit, and the stuff about identity and existence; the question is, who do I think I am to question someone else’s vision of their own work?

I was at the theatre earlier this week, reviewing a play I’d been looking forward to seeing. It first saw daylight about twenty years ago, and was turned into a hit movie; I’ve seen both the film and the stage version, and greatly enjoyed both. This was a new production, big-budget with a starry name or two – well, maybe not starry, but at least known – and I’d heard good things about it.

Which just goes to show that if you don’t raise your expectations too high, you won’t be disappointed. It had a high spot or two, but mostly it simply didn’t work. It wasn’t so much that they did it badly; more that the approach they’d taken, the concept if you like, didn’t seem to get the play’s message across.

And that’s pretty much what my review said.

It was a touring show, so out of curiosity I looked up reviews at other venues on Google – and give or take a mutter or two about relatively minor details, every one I found sang its praises. A couple even said the setting, which was integral to that concept I couldn’t get along with, was a stroke of genius.

I’ve been reviewing theatre for a long time now, and I stopped being insecure about my own credentials for the job a lot of years ago, even when the critics I’m at odds with are from the big national papers rather than the much smaller regional one I was writing for. A theatre critic is only the man or woman in the stalls, and I’ve seen more than enough live theatre to qualify. Our job is to watch the show from that point of view, and give our readers our opinion; it’s up to them whether they decide to buy a ticket, or not, on the strength of that opinion. Disagreeing with fellow reviewers doesn’t worry me in the least; we’re all individuals who bring our own experience and taste to the job, and there’s no reason on earth why we shouldn’t form different views.

But it didn’t end there. Until I’d written and filed my review, I’d only glanced at the programme (I think American for that is playbill) to check the names of the cast members who weren’t so familiar. When I looked properly, I found that the author, a hugely experienced and respected playwright, was also the director of this particular production – which meant the concept which felt so wrong was actually his idea.

That’s when I had my Who the hell am I? moment.

Had I missed the point? Had I simply failed to latch on to what he was trying to say? And in the light of those other reviews, was I pretty much the only critic in the UK who didn’t get it?

OK, so my own view of how it should be approached chimed with the directors of the movie and the previous stage production I’d seen. But hey, two people among so many; maybe they missed the point as well, and maybe the author wasn’t around to tell them they’d got it wrong.

Or maybe...

Theatre is like reading in many ways; the most significant (and relevant to this post!) is that they’re both two-way processes. What the audience member/reader gets out isn’t necessarily what the author thinks s/he has put in. If that sounds too deep and complex for a damp Wednesday morning in November, I apologize – but it’s really quite simple, and goes back a few paragraphs to where I described reviewers: individuals, who bring our own experience and taste to the job.

To my mind, that description kind of sums up the entire human race.

Which is why that Who the hell am I? moment has passed. Maybe I got it wrong, maybe I just got it... different. I’m only human after all.

November 27, 2012

So it's the end of November, and if my Twitter and Facebook feeds are any indication, the urge to complete a novel in a month remains strong in many writers, who are by this point tired, irritated, pretty much hating the sight of their computers and are thinking of ways to torture their books' protagonists, whom they despise.

That's because NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, or as most of us like to call it, November) is unnatural. It imposes an artificial deadline on a process that typically takes a more plodding determination--to start and finish a reasonably-sized novel in the space of 30 days, one of which is Thanksgiving.

But that doesn't mean it's worthless: not at all. I know many writers who have used NaNoWriMo to write up the framework, or sketchy draft, of a book that they eventually get published. And the discipline of placing butt in chair for a month straight does wonders for writers who wonder "Can I actually DO this?" That's great. And there's a wonderful, mostly online community of sufferers...er, authors (I tease because I love) who share their thoughts and headaches and struggles to make Word Count without inserting gratuitus sex scenes so they can write "Oh god Oh god Oh god" for three lines.

But here's what I'm here to say, and it's for both self-interest and for the value of giving this as advice: Please, if you have written a novel during NaNoWriMo, don't then "try it out" on agents or editors or even your best friends before you take a very hard look at it and spend serious amounts of time editing. To be fair: the very vast majority of participants know this well (and anyone who's done it more than once definitely knows). And there is a sense that December is NaNoEdMo. And January could be NaNoReWriMo. But neither, really, ought to be NaNoSubMo.

Instead, marvel at what you have accomplished--you've written all (or in many cases, really, most) of a book from scratch in a month. I've never done that. Neither have most people in the world. It's a great achievement. Seriously. And I would LOVE to get a beautifull, well-written, spit-polished submission of a manuscript that was conceived in November. It makes a great story for the pitch, and I feel like we all root for it. But the writing is only the first step.

Now, with three days to go, get back to it! You should be hitting the climax (not the 3-line Oh God kind!) and taking it across the line. Good luck! Then go to sleep, wake up, turn on the laptop, and get to editing!

November 26, 2012

I was at an anniversary party this past weekend (Happy Thanksgiving, Americans!) and, as often happens at such events, someone who knows what I do for a living asked about the next book and when it would be released (E.J. Copperman's e-book special
A WILD GHOST CHASE comes December 31, which doesn't seem all that far away anymore, and then the fourth Haunted Guesthouse novel CHANCE OF A GHOST will be due on February 5). I related the information duly, and she asked what the book is called.

Now, you're going to think this next part is crazy, but only because it is. Keep in mind that I realize it's a symptom of a mental problem, but I'm not sure which one. I only mention it here because, well, it's my day to post and the well is a little dry just now.

Anyway, this woman asked the title of my next book. And, for not the first time in my life, I pretended to have to think about it, like I'd forgotten the title of the work that I'd spent months writing and more months rewriting, that I am now in the process of beginning to publicize and that I hope will be an international success, or even a regional one, if a whole lot of people in one region buy it.

I stood there, doing some very bad acting about how I couldn't remember the name ("There are two of them, and I have to remember which is which"), until the conversation shifted.

Hi. My name is Jeff, and I don't like to say titles out loud.

It's true. I can't explain it, but I have a particular aversion to stating the name of my works (and, to be fair, almost everyone else's) aloud. I have no such problem with writing them. When I typed the two titles (those would be A WILD GHOST CHASE and
CHANCE OF A GHOST) above, I did not hesitate nor did I try to change the subject. But ask me to talk about any of my books and I'll usually refer to them as "one of the movie theater books" or "a ghost book" without saying the actual printed title.

No, I don't understand it either.

This is something of a self-imposed handicap for an author. If there's one thing you should be really eager to shout from the rooftops, it should be the name of the work you're trying to make famous. I'm sure you don't find Stephen King pretending to forget Cujo or J.K. Rowling "not recalling" which Harry Potter book was which (witch?). William Shakespeare probably ran around town yelling "Hamlet!" so often that somebody came up to him and said, "Geez, Bill, if you want to live in a bigger town, move back to London."

Luckily, the Internet has made it possible to communicate with innumerable people all at the same time without having to actually use your vocal cords. So you'll be reading the titles A WILD GHOST CHASE and CHANCE OF A GHOST plenty in the coming weeks. And it's not like I'll never say one of my titles in conversation; it's just that I usually try to avoid it.

It makes no sense. I realize that. And it's not an absolute: As Gene Wilder said in The Producers, "It's a minor compulsion; I can deal with it if I want to."

After all, they say that admitting you have a problem is the first step.

November 25, 2012

Since it's Thanksgiving week, I thought I'd say thanks to all the libraries of my childhood. There were a lot, all in and around Rochester, NY. I'm thanking the 1970s and 80s versions of these libraries, but I'm sure they are still worthy of thanks today.

The central branch of the Rochester Public Library had a secret room accessible only by pressing a secret button. (This room was immortalized in Daniel Pinkwater's Rochester-centered novel Yobgorgle.) This branch lent super-8 films, and I remember my mother borrowing cartoons in this format for my brother and me.

The Greece Public Library had a lovely story time. Thank you, children's librarians, for reading to me on the weekends after my swimming lesson.

The Penfield Public Library was in an old house, and had lots of nooks and crannies. It probably wasn't the easiest place to find a particular book, since the shelving had to bend around a lot of corners, but it was a great place to find books by accident. I think it was from this library that my mom borrowed prints and paintings to hang on our living room wall.

The Fairport Public Library had a big wooden boat out front, with a wheel that actually turned. Inside, in the young adult area, it had 1960s-style recumbent rocking chairs somewhat like the Dondolo chair pictured above. I remember quite distinctly borrowing about 20 books about sexual reproduction from this library, all at once, when I was about nine, and the staff didn't blink an eye.

The Brighton Memorial Library was in walking distance of my middle school, and I walked there every day after school in the time before my family moved to our new house in Brighton. Thank you, Brighton Memorial Library, for not minding that I hung out in you in a semi-homeless manner for many hours, doing my homework and waiting for my mom to pick me up. And thank you, mom, for letting me start at the new school in September rather that switching mid-year and being The New Kid.

Thank you, libraries everywhere, for existing, for giving us homes away from home, for providing us with books and films and music and art that we could never otherwise afford.

November 24, 2012

The sound of chimes has been reverberating in my store every
quarter hour for the past two days. With every “ding-dong” my heart lightens a
bit. I am amazed at how something so simple can bring back memories and a sense
of peace and calm. The Flemington clock chimes are ringing again.

The chimes of Flemington had been a tradition as far back as
anyone I know remembers. They were located in the Flemington National Bank
building, across the street from my store. Rumor had it that they had
originally been located in the building next door to mine, the “clock tower”
building, which is topped, unsurprisingly, by a four-sided clock tower. That
clock has not worked in living memory either, and the building had fallen into
great disrepair. Several years ago a developer bought both buildings, gutted
them, and brought them into the 21st century. He has a sense of
history, and the exteriors were kept as near as possible to their original
styles. The clock itself, although beautifully dressed now, is beyond repair at
any reasonable cost.

The building which was the headquarters of a local bank
serving generations of Hunterdon County farmers, small businesses, and families
had been well kept, but the vagaries of modern day finance caused the bank
company itself to be bought, its purchaser to be bought, etc., until the fine
old institution was a branch of one of the largest banks in the country. This
bank became a tenant of the developer, but required that the interior of the
branch office conform to the corporate standards. Gone were the dark wood
railings and teller stations, the high ceilings and windows, the chandeliers,
and most distressing, the huge vault which had been centered opposite the
entrance. Instead there was pale gray paint and slightly darker gray carpeting,
no woodwork, Plexiglas-protected positions for the workers, and low ceilings.
The windows were covered up or minimized. It was like entering a big box store,
about as bland and uninviting as an office could be. The employees, no doubt
influenced by the atmosphere, were as cold as the office.

The old is not wiped away so easily. The mega-bank, possibly
because of recent losses in an economic crisis they helped create, decided that
its branch in downtown Flemington was no longer needed or profitable, or both,
and left. Another local bank, not originated in Flemington, but nearby, is
growing and took the space. Their remodeling restored dark wood railings and
teller stations, rich green carpeting, and chandelier-type lighting. The ugly
kiosk installed so that bank personnel could have minimal contact with
customers has been replaced with an old (or old-looking) desk with pens,
deposit and withdrawal forms, etc. The staff greets every customer with warm
smiles. And best of all – the vault, a great steel fortress, with a door that
looks like it would take three men to move, is front and center; it was never
gone, just wall-boarded over.

So what do banks and chimes have to do with each other?
Around the time that the mega-bank turned a lovely old space into a
cookie-cutter outpost of its business, the chimes, coincidentally or not, were
broken. The bank was unwilling or unable to repair them, and so the music
stopped. We all missed it, but such is the price of progress, or so we thought.

The week before Thanksgiving, the news broke: the chimes
were coming back! Another Flemington tradition is the Thanksgiving Day “Turkey
Trot,” a 5K run that benefits a local charity. The chimes would start the race
and sound on the quarter-hour from then on. The old chimes had played seasonal
music at certain times of the year (harvest songs in November, Christmas music
of course, and patriotic music at the appropriate holidays). The return of this
delightful custom is anticipated with joy by all of us who live and work
downtown.

When the news was out that the chimes were returning, we
found out what a magnificent blend of old and new had occurred. The developer
who had renovated and still owns the bank building had attempted repairs, but
found that the cost for such an old mechanism was prohibitive. The Business
Improvement District took the project under wing, but found that even a digital
apparatus to replace the old chimes would cost several thousand dollars.
However: “There’s an app for that.” An IPod Touch and an amplifier, a timer and
the existing speakers, and the bells are ringing again. I defy you to tell the difference.

Flemington is one of hundreds, if not thousands, of small
towns steeped in history struggling to incorporate the needs of modern commerce
into its traditional behaviors. In our case, we have seen the Flemington
Speedway, once a dirt track drawing race cars from around the country and the
site of the County Fair, become a shopping plaza anchored by the “Big W.” The
complex of buildings which housed Flemington Cut Glass, once a destination for
lovers of crystal and a training magnet for craftsmen, is now vacant and about
to be demolished for town houses. But the old Court House, replaced by a modern
facility nearby, has been restored and is being used for cultural events. The Stangl
Pottery factory, once repurposed as an outlet for a stoneware manufacturer, is
now a center for local craftspeople, with the original firing ovens still in
place. There is a comfort in maintaining the old, but a risk that it will
become unmaintainable and disappear completely. There is an energy and vitality
that comes from building new, efficient structures, but a risk that identity
and community will be lost. Somewhere in between are the chimes: a comforting
reminder of the past punctuating the day, enabled by the technology of today.
As I think of the towns that have been partially or completely destroyed by the
recent storm, particularly those along the New Jersey shore, I hope that as
they rebuild they are able to retain the history that has made them each
unique, while modernizing for the needs of today and the future. The balancing
of old and new can be done when creative minds are put to the task; I am
reminded every quarter hour.

November 23, 2012

Earlier this year, Jon Jordan told me a brilliant story. I
might get some of the details wrong, but it basically went like this:

Years ago, Ian Rankin
was introducing Jon and Ruth to a group of people. [Editor’s Note: In case you live under a rock, Ian is the author of the
Inspector Rebus series (among other things, including books and music, and Jon
and Ruth are the force behind Crimespree
Magazine, among many other things.] In his own inimitable style, the
eloquent Scotsman explained that just as when someone sneezes on a plane and
makes all the passengers sick, when Jon and Ruth advocate for a book or author,
they infect those near and far. They are
the sneeze on the plane when it comes to books.

As I seem to do every year at this time, I’ve been thinking
a lot about books as gifts (I actually don’t give many of them except to myself,
but that’s a topic for another post) and also the books I’ve loved most this
year, from authors both long-beloved and new to me. Which has led me to
pondering influence, and the value of cultivating those who will advocate for
your books.

As traditional measurement goes—that is, circulation—Crimespree Magazine isn’t huge. Marketing
types who aren’t involved in the crime fiction community could, therefore,
underestimate its importance and the immense value Jon and Ruth bring to the
visibility of a book or author brand. But if one looks at this community, it
becomes quickly apparent that Jon and Ruth are among the architects of the
world in which today’s crime fiction readers (and book buyers) live. They take
immense joy in sharing their love of books and authors, and they are trusted by
everyone in the ecosystem—readers, yes, and also publishers, publicists,
librarians, and booksellers.

My point here, though, is not to incite a deluge of emails
to Jon and Ruth imploring them to read your book. I’m using them as a prime example
of the vast influence people who Be the Sneeze can—and do—have, and hoping that
you will embrace your influencers, regardless of their “traditional metrics”
reach.

For example, when a blogger takes the time to read and
review your book, that person should immediately climb to the top of your
Marketing Priority List. You should say “thank you,” of course, and you should also
get to know that person who has already invested the time to tell her or his
audience about you and your book.

On Twitter, don’t be deceived by a seemingly low follower
count. Remember follower count does not reach make; the latter number is
generally much higher.

In the Real World, when you see someone buying your book—or even
just looking at it in a store—don’t be too shy as to introduce yourself and thank
them.

And because I believe in Karma, be sure to Be the Sneeze
yourself. When you read a book you like, tell people about it. It will come
back to you many-fold.

November 22, 2012

If you're reading this in America and it's Thanksgiving Day/Night, I really wish you'd step away from the computer and make conversation with somebody around you. Stranger. Family. Friend. That in-law you don't really feel like you have anything in common with--just talk.

Because here we all are, alive on this crazy spinning planet. Some days the chips are down and we have to bluff our way back into the game, but there's a game, and we've got a chance, and there isn't really anything more empowering than that. I'm thankful for it.

I'm thankful that even in this crazy era of publishing--self-publishing, Big 6 mergers, books that aren't well written selling a bajillion copies--people are still reading, stories are still being told, and the connection between humans flourishes.

November 21, 2012

I’m not often given to whimsy, but an odd little thought has been perambulating around my head this morning.

What is it about agents, small publishers and... stairs?

I suppose it was triggered by Josh’s post yesterday about Mimi and Rodolfo and his new Upper West side garret, but wherever it started, it won’t go away. So this is an attempt at exorcism. Or maybe I mean excisement. Something like that, anyway.

It’s not just Josh. In a ftymumble-year career as a writer, editor and publisher, I’ve had cause to visit the office of an agent or seven, and quite a few publishers too.

Maybe I’m suffering from selective memory syndrome, but I can name a few agents whose offices were, and probably still are, up at least two flights; the prevailing image in my mind of those visits is of a long climb followed by a few minutes to let the sweat dry and my breathing settle before going about whatever business took me there.

I’ve sometimes wondered if that location is part of the test authors have to pass before being taken on by an agent. Authors need physical stamina; one of my favourite quotes from a deliciously witty writer called Keith Waterhouse who died a couple of years ago describes the process of writing a novel as akin to digging a small quarry with a teaspoon. So if you can’t make it up those stairs without needing oxygen at the top, forget it.

I don’t have huge experience of large publishers’ premises, at least not book publishers. Actually only one, and just half a dozen steps up to a large foyer. For the Big Six publishers it’s serried ranks of desks in open-plan offices, only discernible from insurance companies or the head offices of large conglomerates by the cover proofs and piles of newly-delivered review copies. And lifts (sorry, elevators) to the upper floors.

Small indies, though – that’s a different matter. The cover proofs and printers’ boxes are still much in evidence, but we’re talking old houses with converted attics; a pair of rooms above laundromats or newsagents; in one case a maze of narrow passageways and cubby-holes just large enough for a desk and chair. And magazines, before they were all rationalized into one tall glass building, seemed to inhabit the dusty space above an old-fashioned arcade of little shops selling watches, bric-a-brac and antiquarian books.

Sounds like a different world, doesn’t it? A 1950s time-warp, rather than the streamlined production line operation which at least for the time being continues to turn manuscripts into delicious-smelling hardbacks, and will soon only turn computer files into different computer files with no smell at all except that faint ozone aroma that hangs around electricity.

For now, though, until all the big publishers merge into one computerized operation and subsume or bankrupt most of the little ones, that little world does still exist, and I hope will continue to do so, if only as a part of an agent’s selection process.

Preserving little bits of the past as the future rolls inexorably towards us... I said it was whimsy. I must be getting old.

November 20, 2012

Welcome to the new home of Hannigan Salky Getzler. It's nice to see the sign on the wall. Our new old building is from 1905, and is the former site of an art school. As a result, the place feels like a bit of a Parisian Garret (I'm waiting to see Mimi and Rodolfo show up, freezing and consumptive, with cheap wine). But it's whitewashed and bright, with a skylight and a view of Broadway, and feels like a great place to find great books and sell them (to the big Six...er, four...er, three...). We have terrific officemates in A-Line Pictures, the production company behind Capote and Monsoon Wedding. And we have Zabar's across the street!

So, this day and a half before Thanksgiving, I am thankful to be uptown. I am thankful for authors and editors and other agents. I am thankful that we were safe during Sandy (though I am so sorry for the continuing suffering of my friends and colleagues downtown and in Staten Island and other affected areas). And I am thankful for health, friends, colleagues, clients and family. See you next week, during the period that the Rugrats famously called "Between Christmas and Misgivings."

November 19, 2012

I spent sections of this past weekend in the company of spies. Saturday night, Josh, Jess and I braved a rabid crowd of Twilight fans to see--perhaps belatedly--
Argo, the Ben Affleck version of what happened in Iran in late 1979 and early 1980, when the CIA, in cooperation with the Canadian government, smuggled six U.S. diplomatic personnel out of the country in the midst of the infamous hostage situation.

The next day, just to be spy ironic (spyronic?), we went to see Skyfall, in which Daniel Craig shows us James Bond as a guy who does (a little) more than shoot people and sleep with absurdly gorgeous women.

It was a study in contrasts, certainly. Argo has been rhapsodically reviewed in many respected publications and has generated serious Oscar buzz for Affleck and probably some others. Skyfall has been well, if not rhapsodically, reviewed as a refreshing Bond film after the complete inconsequence of Quantum of Solace (what the hell does that mean, anyway?) and has generated all sorts of money for MGM, which needed it.

Frankly, I think Skyfall is the better film.

Yes, Affleck, who directed, co-produced and starred in Argo, paid great attention to accuracy and detail. (Except when he didn't, as detailed in this Slate article.) It has very impressive facial hair and forelocks--this might be the hairiest movie of the year. And Affleck made a nice little thriller that gets you tense even though you should know the outcome of the whole enterprise if you've paid any attention to the facts about the Iran crisis at all.

But that's sort of the problem. The viewer knows --SPOILER ALERT--that the mission is going to be successful. The people who escaped the embassy and are being harbored by the Canadians are not fully fleshed out; they're simply the "guests" who need rescuing and aside from some bickering among themselves (during which you wonder what they'd prefer to do if not go along with the guy who's here to get them home), they're sort of bland. (Thank goodness for John Goodman and Alan Arkin, the only people in the movie who seem to understand what a nutty plot this is. Without them, the story might just as well be about sneaking people out of Iran by pretending they're working for Johnson & Johnson on a special Farsi Band-Aid.)

Still, the hostages not the blandest characters in the movie. This Affleck has reserved for himself. Playing Antonio Mendez, who cooked up the scheme to pretend to shoot a movie in Iran so as to extract the six people at risk, and who surely must be an interesting character, Affleck looks stoned. He rarely moves a facial muscle, reacts to everything with a pause, as if he's translating it into his native language in his head, and otherwise sleepwalks through the plot in what can only be interpreted as an attempt to seem deep and concerned. Instead, he comes across as the least interesting man in the world. Stay boring, my friends.

In
Skyfall, there has been virtually no attempt to provide accuracy, although the details dropped in are interesting. I lost interest in the Bond series around the time of Timothy Dalton, mostly because I stopped being a man in his 20s and moved on to things that were slightly less, let's say, formulaic. Yeah, the bombs and the babes were fun, but they were the same from movie to movie.

And when Daniel Craig took over with the third (by my count) version of Casino Royale, I was not impressed. That guy on the screen was running around shooting people and the like, but they could have named him Jerry Baskin for all the resemblance he had to the classic Bond. Okay, but not interested.

With Skyfall, however, there is more to the man than the tuxedo. Attention is paid to the fact that it's Bond's (brace yourself) 50th anniversary on screen, so there are reminders and touches that go back to the Aston Martin and the shaken martini. There is a very creepy (if underused) villain in Javier Bardem, whose contract appears to insist that he have
crazy hair in every movie. There are two "Bond girls," if we must use that term, and while they pretend to be women of the millennium, they are seen as either incompetent or defined by their choice of men.

Doesn't sound much like a rave review yet, does it?

What the filmmakers, who include director Sam Mendes (whose work I have not to date found that interesting) have added is a soul for the guy in the suit. This installment gives us a little of Bond's backstory, although whether it is Fleming's I can't claim to know. It makes him feel things. It makes him care. That's a huge sea change for this franchise, and I hope the producers decide to continue with it.

Is it too long? Of course it's too long; it's a James Bond movie. It's crammed with plots, subplots, chases, more chases, shootings, more shootings, stuff blowing up and Albert Finney, among the most welcome of veteran actors signing on to give Bond a little more gravitas than usual. Is it Connery? It is not. There's one of those, and that's all you get. But Skyfall isn't as silly as the Roger Moore take on the character, it's considerably more distinctive than Pierce Brosnan's placeholder Bond, and it is Craig's best outing so far.

The idea that he's now considered old in the role is just a little scary.

Abner Doubleday did not invent the game of baseball. He also did not publish books. That was Frank Doubleday.

I know; you're surprised. But on a recent trip (immediately post-storm, when refugees were leaving New Jersey to find electrical power) to Gettysburg, PA, it was revealed to me that Doubleday was in fact at the battle of Gettysburg, but his only connection to America's budding national pastime was that he tried to requisition some baseball bats and other equipment for former slaves under his command, and was denied. Apparently even that far back, African Americans were being banned from playing baseball.

This comes as no shock. I knew Doubleday was only the mythical inventor of the game, that it was a sort of bastardization of a game called Rounders from England, mixed with Cricket, or something like that. But hey, America did what it does, which is to take stuff from other places and make it our own.

So consider the differences in the English language (particularly American English) if the game of baseball had not been invented, by Doubleday or anybody else. We would have lost the expressions:

Throw a curve ball at you;

Out of left field;

Doubleheader;

Swing for the fences;

Go for the no-hitter;

Waiting on
deck;

Warming up in the bullpen;

Going, going, gone (with a possible exception for auctions);

Pinch hit for;

Take one for the team;

I could go on.

Then, there are the expressions that one hears during a baseball game and wishes would go away:

November 18, 2012

If you read mystery novels with a feminist lens, you can get the creepy-crawlies pretty easily. So many women victims, so many sexual crimes, so many mutilated female bodies.

Bitch Magazine has a short list of feminist mysteries here. They recommend six authors: M.F. Beal, Laurie R. King, Laura Lippman, Sara Paretsky, Dorothy Sayers, and Sandra Scoppetone. Some consider Sayers's Gaudy Night, published in 1935, to be the first feminist mystery. All the important characters in the novel -- the detective, the victims, and the suspects -- are women. More important, the main character, Harriet Vane, has an awareness of sexism in the world, and wants to do something about it. Here's the Bitch book club take on it.

Of course, the book was marketed somewhat differently in 1935 than it is today:

(Perhaps they're aiming at the Downton Abbey crowd with the 2012 cover design?)

Library staff member "jaegerla" at the Ann Arbor District Library has put together a much longer list of mystery novels with feminist detectives, giving us some additional authors to peruse: C. Alan Bradley, Amanda Cross, Alicia Gaspar de Alba, Kerry Greenwood, Lia Matera, and Sarah Stewart Taylor.

For a really, really in-depth look at the topic, try Laura Ng's 2005 dissertation, Feminist Hard-Boiled Detective Fiction as Political Protest in the Tradition of Women Proletarian Writers of the 1930s, available in full on the open web.

November 17, 2012

One of the lingering problems from Hurricane Sandy in our
rural, and less hard hit, area of New Jersey has been the loss of internet
service in our home since the storm. Electric service returned on Friday,
November 8. Landline telephone service reappeared on Saturday the 9th,
but it was not accompanied by DSL. A call to the provider yielded the
information that service would return in “a couple of days” after the voice
service. By Tuesday the 13th, we felt it was time to call again;
rumor around the neighborhood had it that when some households had called, they
were told no outage had been reported.

Thus began a saga that would take pages to outline and bore
everyone to tears. I’m saving my detailed log of events for my letter to the
company’s management when I can get the appropriate information; their website
is as nonfunctional as their DSL service. Some of the highlights will give you
the flavor of the situation. On Tuesday, we were told that our line was working
fine, and the problem was with the modem. After trying to reprogram the modem,
my husband contacted NetGear, which does
have technical people who can help. The ensuing two hours on the phone led to a
conference call with the NetGear technician and, after several false starts and
hangups, someone at the DSL provider who finally admitted that no, there was no
DSL service on our line, and that he didn’t know when it would be fixed. After
waiting two more days, we called again, and got the same story we had gotten
before: your line is fine, it’s the modem. Interestingly, one of our neighbors
had been told that the problem was a break in the line between Clinton (10
miles north) and Flemington (where we live). I might mention at this point that
my bookstore is also in Flemington, and never lost DSL service, from the same
provider.

This outline does not begin to cover all the phone calls and
all the different excuses that those who live in our neighborhood heard. No
service rep or technical assistant seemed to really care about solving the
problem. By Friday, one said that he would schedule a technician to come to our
home, and the person would be there within the next 24 hours. Well, it‘s
Saturday evening, and we have had no technician and no phone call to
reschedule. Like everything else, this request went into the round file,
somewhere at CenturyLink. I usually use generic descriptions to avoid
pinpointing a specific company, but this time I don’t care about them any more than
they care about me.

We do now have internet service at home. In a competitive
marketplace, the simple solution to bad customer service is to take one’s
business elsewhere. A short visit to the Verizon store got us a “hot spot,”
linked our iPads to it on one account (we both
still have “dumb phones,” or we would have added those also), and one
connection to an electrical outlet gave us all we need. The buzz at the Verizon
outlet in Flemington was that they had had a rush of business this week; I
wonder why? While we were at it, we changed our voice service. We had three
land lines in the house, two of which had become unnecessary since the kids are
gone; they are from pre-cellphone, dial-up internet days, but we had never
bothered to change things. We also had a long distance calling plan from
Centurylink. All about to be discontinued; for $19.99 a month we have wireless
telephone service with unlimited long distance. Without DSL, there is no need
for hard-wired phone. We still have the main telephone number we have had for
almost 30 years. Even with the charges for the “hot spot” and a large amount of
monthly data usage, we are coming out ahead financially. For those of you who
might actually be aware of the ridiculous remnants of the old Bell system, or
wonder why we don’t get Fios, Fios will never under current regulations be
available in our area; during the monopoly days, our area was covered by a
rural “independent” phone company, which has been bought and consolidated with
others several times, but old agreements forbid Verizon (or any other carrier)
from building land lines, even fiber optic, in this area. Wireless is another
story, however; it didn’t exist when those agreements were made.

My reason for detailing all this is not to rant against a
particular company, although they deserve it and I enjoyed it. This situation
brought home to me once again the importance of customer service in a
competitive marketplace, especially for any business in a market that is
undergoing changes because of technology. Bookselling, of course, is one of those
markets. When you can’t compete on price, you have to offer service that makes
the customer willing to spend a little more. This week a new customer entered the
store as I was shelving books; when I asked if I could help him he said, “You
seem busy, but you could probably save me some time; I’m looking for….” Of
course, I consider my first job to be helping the customer; this gentleman
seemed to be used to shopping in places where you are on your own. He was quite
pleased to be handed the book he wanted, but then spent some time browsing and
found a few more. Special ordering new books we don’t have in stock, searching
on-line for out-of-print volumes and ordering for those who can’t or won’t do
it themselves, shipping books to faraway or homebound customers, asking the
right questions to help a reader find a book they will enjoy – these are the services
that keep the business viable. Even time spent helping customers that yields no
immediate financial reward enhances the reputation that is so important; a
customer tells a friend, “Go to Twice Told Tales; they’ll help you.”

Even when things do not go well, customers, myself included,
are willing to bear a situation patiently if they feel that there is concern
for their needs and they are being told the truth. I can’t count the number of
times I have had to call a customer to tell them that a book Baker&Taylor
was showing in stock and that I had promised for the next day was actually
back-ordered. The response is usually positive and understanding; they know I
am as disappointed as they are and are willing to wait. If they need it
immediately, I will call other stores to see if it is available. It’s better to
lose one sale and keep the customer. Lying, making excuses, or worse, not
keeping the customer informed, are good ways to lose customers and generate
unfavorable “word-of-mouth.” We
would have waited out the DSL outage with CenturyLink if we had had any
indication that someone cared about the problem or knew what was going on.
Given the statewide emergency and damage done, a statement that they could not
locate the problem but were working on it would have sufficed. The dishonesty
and lack of concern was what lost them many, if not all, of the customers in
our area.

Two other examples of markets that have changed dramatically
in recent years come to mind. The Postal Service is bleeding money; yet their
service deteriorates daily. They have made it more and more inconvenient for
those who still do bulk mailings by forcing the customer to “regional” offices;
just try to do a bulk mailing from your local post office. Delivery of
periodicals is delayed with no explanation; I have not received the New Yorker
for two weeks, but if history repeats itself, I will have three issues next
week. I will refuse to pay the storage costs. I’ve been forced by the Postal
Service to read on my iPad; when I give up on the print version, which I much
prefer, whose fault will it be? When I mailed four packages of returned books
to the same address, three arrived and one went around the country on vacation.
The tracking system let me know where it was, but did nothing to get it to its
destination; an e-mail outlining the problem did generate a phone call from the
local postmaster, at the office where it was mailed. He couldn’t do much but
give me the phone number of the most recent outpost where the package appeared
to have decided it liked the weather and wanted to stay. The next time, it’s a
different delivery service, a little more money but a whole lot less
aggravation.

In contrast, my favorite newspaper, the Newark Star-Ledger,
outdid itself in customer service during the recent crisis. I mentioned in an
earlier post that on the Wednesday after the Monday night’s disastrous storm, I
was shocked to see a newspaper in my box; I had just taken a four-mile detour in
each direction because of downed trees and wires to get to town for coffee. Yet
the delivery person had brought something I hadn’t expected to see for several
days. That issue had apologies for missing the Tuesday edition because the entire
city of Newark had lost power Monday evening; they had to move three times to
get the Wednesday issue out. The Tuesday edition appeared inside the Friday
issue; they had prepared it but were unable to publish and wanted those
customers who enjoyed columns or features (or, in my case, the comics) to have
them. The early storm coverage was also excellent. It may soon be impossible
for any newspaper to survive, but I’ll be a print subscriber to the Star-Ledger
until one of us is gone.

Bookstores, newspapers, postal service, telephone services. The
world has changed and there are no guarantees of survival; the customer has
choices and will exercise them. But loyalty to an established institution or
way of doing things still influences behavior. That loyalty is easily destroyed
by poor service, and strengthened by honesty, concern, and personal attention.

November 14, 2012

Interesting post from Jeff on Monday. He usually makes me smile, and this week he made me think as well.

Yes, of course Haunted Guesthouse #5 will need to take Sandy into account; that’s a no-brainer. But what about Haunted Guesthouse #4, which will hit the bookstands only a little over three months after the event? It’s too late in the publishing process to make major changes, so in the absence of hair-tearing and yowls of dismay from our friend E J C, I’m assuming the action took place before the end of October.

Which leads me into the way Jeff’s post has been directing my thoughts for the past couple of days.

Where a book takes place is a vital part of the tapestry which makes up a piece of fiction. But what about when?

Sometimes it’s easy. A historical novel, whether you define history as a long time ago or any time before midnight last night, can be placed with a degree of precision, especially if a specific event is key to the plot. C J Sansom used the sinking of the Mary Rose (more familiar to us Brits than you over there across the water – sorry about that.) And two authors in whom I have a particular interest, Roz Southey and Chris Nickson, have both researched aspects of the 1730s in such detail that their books make you feel you could follow their characters around the streets.

But for authors of contemporary fiction it’s less straightforward, as I discovered on my own account recently when I attempted to revise something I started writing back in the mid-90s. I thought I’d come up with the definitive version in 2002, but a couple of publishers didn’t agree (a tough time for debut authors, hard to place this kind of thing in the current difficult market, not sure how we’d pitch it; nothing changes, does it?) and then I crossed the fence and started my own publishing company and somehow there wasn’t time...

Anyway, I picked it up again a few months ago, and whaddya know, ten years on there’s a whole lot of stuff that doesn’t work any more.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter; a lot of books are made to be read once, then either treasured forever because that’s what you do with books, or sent off to the charity shop as soon as you know whodunit, depending on your point of view. But sometimes it’s not so easy. In these days of galloping technological advances the latest piece of cyber-kit is out of date practically before you’ve bought it, so mentioning it in fiction dates the story in a heartbeat. Which can make things a tad tricky in a series, even if no specific time period is, um, specified.

The march of technology is a bump in the road which two of my favourite series authors (and probably a whole lot more I haven’t taken in) have hit a time or seven, largely because the action in the series takes place over a far shorter period of time than it’s taken to publish the books.

Reginald Hill’s Dalziel and Pascoe made their first appearance an astonishing forty-two years ago. In real time Pascoe would be a happily retired grandfather, and Dalziel... well, yes, OK, probably wouldn’t have survived his bad habits. 1970s technology consisted of manual typewriters and a phone you could use to inflict blunt trauma – yet more than half the books make use of the Police National Computer and Wieldy’s internet skills, so the years have clearly telescoped more than a little.

And so far J D Robb’s In Death series, set half a century in the future, has managed to stay a step or two ahead by resorting to Star Trek holo-technology and flying cars alongside computers that seem to behave not too dissimilarly to the one I’m using right now. She seemed to invent the smart-phone right at the start of the series (which began in 1995 – Bill Gates, eat your heart out) but it hasn’t noticeably moved on.

I’m not suggesting this little problem mars my enjoyment in any way at all; I keep reading the books because I love the characters and the writing, and the plots aren’t bad either. I’m always impatient for the next Eve Dallas, and I expect I’ll weep when I run out of Dalziel and Pascoe backlist to catch up on. The same applies to a whole lot of authors whose work I enjoy. But how to keep pace with the real world must surely be a conundrum for authors.

PS On the subject of technology, I've just availed myself for the first time of one of the wonders of Typepad - it adds links to further information on request. Can I just say I have absolutely no idea what you'll get if you click on those links.

November 13, 2012

Thursday morning, three gentlemen showed up in Soho with a
large truck and strong backs. They lugged 30 boxes of books and yellow stickies
and whiteboards filled with submissions lists out the door of 287 Spring Street,
and three hours later Hannigan Salky Getzler Agency was unpacking our new
office on the Upper West Side (right upstairs from where the late H&H
Bagels used to be—now it’s a Verizon store).

I’m writing about this not because it’s a major moment in
the history of publishing, but because it illustrates a reality in the business
world: work-life fit matters. We moved because three of the four of us live on
the Upper West Side. One of us is having a baby in a little more than a month,
and having an office near home will allow her to come by to say hello (and keep
at least slightly current) during her maternity leave. I live a block and a
half away from the new space (a fact I apparently mention to my
becoming-more-annoyed wife several times a day, most often while doing a very
44 year-old version of the Gangnam dance…).

But I’m not happy about the move because it will allow me to
sleep late and give up my monthly Metrocard. Rather, it’s because all of a
sudden my kids have enormous amounts of homework. My son’s in a new school, and
it’s serious. He’s reasonably philosophical about it, but walks around shellshocked
at the fact that at 10 PM he’s only half done. My girls, one in middle school
and the other in fourth grade, are in a double curriculum, and more often than
not have to read primers in Hebrew after their math.

The point is, the half-hour I am saving by walking the two
blocks home rather than taking the E to the D to the C could be the difference
between a reasonable amount of sleep for the kids and exhaustion and incredible
irritability—times five, if you count Amanda and me. The fact that I’ll also be
able to go to the gym more often is an added bonus, and one that will surely
add to my overall well-being and happiness.

As always in these situations, I’m indebted to my client
Cali Williams Yost, who’s spent the last 17 years advising people how to give
their professional and personal lives this kind of synergy. She’s written one
book on the topic, and is coming out with a second, Tweak It, this winter from
Center Street. This is not merely a plug for Cali, who has an enormous platform
and does a far better job explaining herself than I can. But I will say that my
conversations with her, about strategies designed to figure out where my
priorities lie—and that personal and professional goals overlap more than my
self-compartmentalizing brain ever considered before—certainly were factors in
considering this change.

This morning I dropped my son off at the Columbus Avenue
bus, then walked for three minutes, past a Starbucks and Zabar’s, and up to the
former artist’s studio HSG is now sharing with a small film production company.
I opened my email. It was 7:35 AM. The day could begin.

November 12, 2012

Usually, finishing a first draft is cause for celebration: Weeks/months of hard work have paid off, and even though there's still plenty of revision to do before sending in the manuscript (soon, Shannon, I promise!), there's a sense of accomplishment, of completing something that began as the germ of an idea and grew to over 80,000 words of text.

Not so much celebration this time.

The Haunted Guesthouse series, which as everyone (sort of everyone) knows is written by E.J. Copperman, takes place on the Jersey Shore. The fictional--and I'm thanking myself for making it fictional now especially--town of Harbor Haven is placed somewhere on the coastline, but Copperman has never been particularly clear about its actual geographical location. What we know for sure is that it is a quiet little beach town that doesn't have its own amusement pier but does make a good deal of its living off the tourist trade.

And then a week and a half before I finished that draft (and literally three days before the original deadline for the manuscript), the New Jersey coast and much of the Eastern Seaboard met a girl named Sandy, and the world went crazy.

Most of us have our power back on now. The downed tree limbs (and whole trees) are largely off the streets. The library may open tomorrow or Wednesday. I'll have someone come up this week to see about the roof shingles we lost to the wind. Schools start a regular schedule again today. Supermarkets just recently started getting perishables back on the shelves. Gasoline is still rationed by the date and the last number on one's licence plate.

And I live 30-40 miles inland from where Harbor Haven might be.

Down the shore, which is how we natives refer to our beach towns, has been devastated in ways that will literally take years to assess. As I said last week, whole houses were taken off their foundations and left in the middle of one of the larger highways in Ocean and Monmouth Counties. Many of those streets and larger roads are literally overrun with sand. We have friends whose brand new co-op apartment was luckily spared the flooding because it was on the second floor, but the first floor was submerged.

Many of the attractions on the amusement piers in Seaside Heights and Wildwood Crest, among other places, simply aren't there anymore.

So now, I have to go back over the 80,000 words I just finished typing (88,000 if you want to be technical, but I have a lot to cut) and figure out--a year in advance--what it'll be like down the shore when the new book comes out late in 2013 or early in 2014.

It would be weird to set a book on the shore and not mention Sandy's appalling damage; that would be the equivalent of writing a book that takes place in New Orleans in 2006 and never mentioning the name "Katrina." People will still be reeling from the effects of that awful storm, and quite frankly if there are future installments in the series, I think it will be hard to ignore Sandy for many books to come.

But at this point, I don't even know whether people will refer to it as "Sandy," or as I tend to think, "the storm." I have no idea what will or won't be salvageable in Belmar or Long Branch or Manasquan or Lavalette or Avon-by-the-Sea or a dozen other communities that would be near Harbor Haven. I don't know if (after the really unnecessary snow storm we had a week after Sandy) there will be other storms that make the situation--and this is hard to imagine--worse.

It would be unlikely that Alison Kerby's guesthouse, so near the beach, would have been completely unscathed by that enormous storm. But I already have a huge plot in place; there are characters and story points and travels she must make in the area to solve the mysteries in the book. I can't have the damage to 123 Seafront Avenue be too severe, or it'll overshadow all that other stuff.

The past couple of weeks in New Jersey and elsewhere on the East Coast have been--and there is no other word for it--devastating. And many, many people have it far, far worse than I do. I am not at all complaining.

But should Alison?

I'm not asking for suggestions or advice; I believe it's the writer's job to imagine effectively and realistically and to turn that imagination into a believable story. So I'll handle this problem in turn. But it is nothing like anything I've ever had to do before.

Of course, rebuilding an entire coastline is something we here in New Jersey have never had to do before. We'll be up to the task.

November 11, 2012

Did you know that Library Journal keeps track of the most-borrowed books each year? Yes, they do. The most recent list includes several mysteries, with authors including Janet Evanovich, J.D. Robb, Harlan Coben, and more. See the full list here.

November 10, 2012

The lights are slowly coming on around
the state of New Jersey,
despite the midweek setback caused by the Nor’easter. The weather turned
colder, and those without power suffered even more. Some, seeing a small silver
lining, pointed out that it was at least cold enough to put some fresh food
outdoors when refrigeration was lacking. The tree removal crews and power and
telephone linemen kept working through the bad weather, and progress is being
made. For many, though, who have lost so much, it’s going to be a long winter.
Please don’t forget them.

I mentioned last week that I was
grateful for many things, and our family did not suffer as much as others. We
had water and heat, if not light or refrigeration until yesterday. Our polling
place was open on Tuesday, so we could vote as normal. Today the phone
returned, and the internet is promised by Monday. We owe a lot of gratitude to
so many workers who came from far away to help. I had the opportunity one night last week to thank some workers from Ohio at a local diner. I hope everyone who has a similar encounter takes the time to say, "Thank You"; they are working long hours far from home and need to know we appreciate it.

Enough about the aftermath of the
storm. I want to say a few words about another of my perennial topics, the
electronic book. The lack of light, combined with a shortage of copies of the book
our reading group had chosen for November, caused me to actually read an entire
novel on my iPad. I have said before that I don’t believe that e-books will
ever replace paper books, and I discovered another drawback that reinforces my
opinion.

The book we chose, Ordinary Heroes by Scott Turow, was published in 2005. I do not
know if it was initially available as an e-book, but I now suspect that at
least the version I read was created after the fact. As I read, I became
distracted by the number of typographical errors in the text. There was a lot
of missing punctuation, especially periods. Words were gibberish, or so it
seemed at first. My reading experience was constantly interrupted by the
necessity of figuring out where sentences ended and what the incomprehensible
words might be.

I decided to try out the highlighting
and note-taking capabilities of the device, mostly out of irritation and to
compare them to a hard-copy text when it was available. As I continued, I began
to see a pattern. The letter “d” was frequently displayed as “cl”; the word
“nun” became “mm.” This is in a book by a best-selling author and from a major
publishing house, not some self-created effort I had picked up from Amazon!

I don’t know much about the technology
of creating electronic books, but I suspect that this one was created from the
original text using Optical Character Recognition, which seems to be as
accurate as voice recognition technology. Although it didn’t take a great deal
of mental effort to correct the thought in “The German troops were in the woods
singing Christmas carols, the voices traveling clown to us on the wind,” the
mood was certainly disrupted and the author’s emotional flow vanished. It took
a bit more thought, in a description of creating makeshift litters to carry the
wounded, to translate “We formed litters by tying each man’s belt tinder his
arms…” and the giggle that erupted from me certainly broke the sense of horror
the passage was meant to evoke.The sentence “As I dragged O’Brien along,
the clog followed” on the next page just about killed any sensitivity I felt to
the soldiers’ plight. The dog’s name was Hercules, and later we find him
“deal,” having been too close to an explosion. So sad, once I realized he was
gone.

I tend to be picky, a bit of a
curmudgeon, about spelling, typos, and inaccurate use of words. I tried telling
myself to ignore the errors, but the annoyance continued. The dreadfulness of
battle seemed less awful when the men were “seared shitless” rather than
scared, and the tenderness of a love scene where the narrator “savored the
remarkable smoothness of her stomach and hack” left me exasperated, not captivated.

One of the joys of reading is being
caught up in the mood the author has created. Distractions of any kind are frustrating to a booklover lost in another time or place. When the
distractions are in the text, it is difficult even to get into that other
place. Someone less prone to identifying errors might feel less frustration,
but her attention would still be diverted by the need to determine what word
was intended by the author.

I am not likely to use electronic
devices for reading any more than is necessary. I appreciate that I was able to
read more comfortably than with a flashlight or reading light while the power
was out, and that I could adjust both the background (I like the sepia at
night, not the night setting) and the intensity of the light. I know that when
I travel, I will download some books as “backup” so that I don’t have to fill
my suitcase with weighty tomes in fear of running out. But when there is a book
that I anticipate savoring for the author’s ability to set a mood or dazzle me
with exquisite prose, I’ll be carrying the paper version.

November 08, 2012

Earlier today, Sarah Weinman tweeted a link to a fascinating article about an author who lived in invented worlds of his own imagination. I'm not talking merely about getting in touch with characters, I'm talking about creating your own life out of fiction--sporting accomplishments, educational achievements, publishing and film successes--in an effort to sell a book.

When I saw who the subject of the article was, I couldn't help but laugh. I'd actually had my own run in with him half a decade ago. Then, on page three of the article, I saw that my interactions were a part of the story.

For the rest of this to make any sense, you'll have to read the article. After the break, I give the other details I remember.

**

A few years
ago, Richard Garbarini (the attorney) for
the victim, called the Big Earth/Bleak House office, and the Big Earth people
called me and asked that I talk to him.

As it turned out, he
was looking for money that Mitchell said was owed to him for his contribution to
THESE GUNS FOR HIRE (Bleak House 2006, edited by J.A. Konrath). I don't
remember the exact sum, but it was tens of thousands of dollars that Mitchell
said he was owed for his short story. I told Mr. Garbarini that he was barking
up the wrong tree, and that Mitchell had been paid from the advance that Bleak
House paid to Konrath and that it, along with any subsequent earnings, was
significantly less by a magnitude of a couple zeros.

I also told him of my
dealings with Mitchell and Majestic
Descending (aka "Die Hard 4: On a Cruise Ship).

Peter Rubie brought
the book to us with all of the talk of Cherokee Productions, Bruce Willis,
James Garner, and Sandra Locke. Mitchell said the movie would move forward as
soon as a book deal was in place, but that he'd need at least a $20,000
advance. When we asked to know more, he offered to introduce us to film
producer "Justin Harbin" who, he warned us, had recently had throat
surgery and talked in a funny voice.

And, indeed,
"Justin Harbin" did speak as though his vocal chords were pulled
tight and coated with gravel. He was amiable enough and wanted us to know how
big of a fan of Mitchell and Majestic
Descending he was. This, he assured us, was going to be box office gold.

We got pretty excited
around the Bleak House office. A few days/weeks (the time gets a little blurry
now) later, Mitchell came to Wisconsin and had lunch with us (Alison, me, and some other folks), regaling us with stories of his fencing prowess and how he
had once embarrassed a "sword fighter" at a science fiction
convention who had made the mistake of asking Mitchell to come out of the audience
for a demonstration.

Also of note, and not
the least bit coincidental, on his flight to Madison, Mitchell sat next to a
woman on the plane who was reading his book (The Fifth Ring). He cleared his throat to get her attention and
asked if he looked familiar, then pointed at the back of the book. Of course,
the lady freaked out when she realized she was sitting next to
(surely) one of her literary heroes.

(In the string of
biographical facts we were given, it turned out that Mitchell was also a highly
accomplished brain surgeon, one of the only men who could perform a
particularly complicated surgery. The exact details are lost to time, but I
remember feeling like the guy just couldn’t stop adding to his biography.)

Dave Oskin (now
deceased) and I kinda assumed the dude was a bullshit artist, but at the same
time, as a small press, the mere fact that it seemed possible was
enough to keep pursuing it. I’m not going to lie or pretend to be above the
past—the book was absolutely not good. This was a carefree time when we thought
all it would take to get us on the map would be one big hit, and we could
overlook shitty literary quality if it helped fund much more deserving
projects.

But then the phone
call.

"Justin Harbin"
was supposed to call Dave to discuss particulars about Majestic Descending and Bleak House. Dave's phone rang and sure
enough "Justin Harbin" was on the phone in his scratchy voice, but
the caller ID said Mitchell Graham. When Dave asked him how that happened, “Justin”
quickly said, "Let me call you back, there seems to be some static on the
line..." and hung up.

Dave called me and
said it was weird. The more Dave and I talked about it and added up all of the
missing details, the incomplete IMDB listings, etc. we finally gave up on the
idea of it being on the up and up.

I called Peter Rubie and said I thought
Mitchell was full of shit and I hoped nobody was trying to con us. There was a
slight attempt to explain it off as a misunderstanding, but not with any real
conviction. Mitchell and “Justin” both tried calling us a few times, but we
never took the calls.

A few months later we
saw that Majestic Descending had
found a publisher. I figured at this point, any of the con associated with the
movie would surely have been put to rest. But Tor’s website had an interview
with Mitchell, and he was still namedropping Sandra Locke and a movie deal.

I think I made an
attempt to talk to somebody to talk to somebody, but then I gave up and figured
it’d all come out eventually. I confess that I did check the Bookscan numbers
for a few weeks before losing interest.

Though we often joked
about it at Bleak House, and later at Tyrus, it was only an interesting
footnote in our history until I got the call from Mr. Garbarini, and realized that it was a significantly bigger case than
just a movie and book hustle. As we compared details, it was clear that some
parts of the story had to be modified over time to keep certain cons going, but
that we’d both heard many of the same tales.

Sometime
later I talked to an agent who coincidentally mentioned that he was working
with a guy named Mitchell Graham about a golf book. It didn’t take long to
figure out we were talking about the same guy. I told him what I knew.

There
is no golf book by Mitchell to check out on Bookscan.

According to Mr. Garbarini, Mitchell had more pressing
matters to address.

November 07, 2012

It’s over, then. Not the post-Sandy clear-up, which will take a few weeks, months, years yet. I mean the election. No delays for major recounts, disputes or mechanical failures this time. When I went to bed last night the polls were beginning to close, and when I woke this morning the right guy had won.

What’s that you say? I’m four thousand miles away so it’s nothing to do with me? Maybe, but I can’t help having an opinion, and our own news media have been almost as full of it as yours for the past few weeks; the world gets smaller every day.

My opinion, for what it’s worth, is that Barack Obama is that rare oxymoron, an honest politician whose heart is in the right place; and Romney... isn’t. I have scant evidence other than my own perceptions for either view, and if lawyers’ letters begin to fly across the water I’ll probably regret and withdraw the second one, but based on simple observation it’s what I think.

I also think that no man (not even a woman) can be expected to clear up an almighty economic mess and get a large country back on its feet in four years, especially not when he had to spend the first year getting used to a whole new lifestyle and the last one defending his position so he can continue what he started for another four years. So whoever had won back in 2008, there would have been no quick fix. Fortunately, enough people saw that, and voted to let Obama continue what he started.

Enough of that. The circus is over, and the real business of living goes on. And I was planning to post about something completely different today anyway.

Last week’s seventh circle of American hell is still too fresh in the memory for a lighter approach; I’ll save that for another week, when your east coast is feeling less fragile and battered. A few slightly more serious thoughts have been assailing my brain, including the way familiarity, or personal connection, makes any kind of disaster more real, and not just another news item about something that happened far away. In world terms, Hurricane Katrina was huge, but I didn’t feel it personally the way I’ve felt Sandy – and yes, Jeff, you’re right; we should find scarier names. Sandy is the stray dog in Annie, for goodness sake!

I suppose finding a local connection with a national or international event is a journalistic trick, but it’s one which works. As long ago as 1988 I recall my local newspaper leading on the Lockerbie bombing, not because my home town is anywhere near Lockerbie, but because one of their reporters just happened to be stuck in the resulting traffic jam and could give a first-hand account. And in 2004 when the tsunami hit southern Asia, they followed the disappearance, and fortunately the rescue, of a local family who were working out there. Both stories brought home that sense of there but for the grace...

And, if I’m allowed to invoke Graham Greene’s icy crystal in the heart of every writer, and edge a little way back towards the stated function of this blog without sounding callous and dismissive (which I’m certainly not – I ache for you guys without power or clean water), this particular journalistic trick is one which transfers neatly to fiction.

A while ago I read a crime novel which included an account of a terrorist bombing in a city centre. It wasn’t the first of its kind I’d read, but it was the best, and I wish the name of the book hadn’t receded into the mists of memory. Sometimes that kind of scene feels second-hand, as if the author has watched it on TV and doesn’t have much idea how it actually feels. This one showed the protagonist stumbling around in debris and body parts, disorientated, his hearing temporarily gone, unable to recognize streets and buildings which had been familiar only a hour or so earlier. It felt right. It felt genuine. It felt as if this was how it really was, and as if the author had been there, done that himself. Or possibly herself; I don’t recall.

I don’t recommend seeking out terrorist bombs as a way of giving fiction an extra layer of reality, but it works on a simpler level too. Sometimes you just know the author is genuinely familiar with the place the story is set; and sometimes you know s/he isn’t.

I wonder if the next Haunted Guest House mystery by your friend and mine E J Copperman will include a scene in which Alison gazes helplessly at a pile of rubble (please, not hers!), or begins to direct a guest to that demolished rollercoaster, then suddenly remembers...

November 06, 2012

Usually I write these posts on my couch after supper on
Tuesdays, when the kids have finished their homework and my wife Amanda and I
have had supper. There’s a rhythm to it, and the slight adrenaline rush of
being on deadline before Tuesday turns to Wednesday and I’ve let my fellow Dead
Guys down.

This evening, like so many other people around the country
and world, I’ll be in front of the TV watching election returns, nervous about
the future and relieved that this endless cycle of primaries, analyses, ads and
debates is finally at an end.

I’m a political junkie, and one of my great pastimes is
providing color commentary with Amanda as we see the process unfold. I’m
passionate in my opinions and believe that the candidate I support is strong
and will lead the country in the right direction. I want him to win, and I want
him to succeed. But this campaign has felt like the culmination of the last 20
or so years’ worth of descent into deepest incivility; of wedges and Pledges
and intransigence and greater and greater hatred and dishonesty. And over the last two elections, the breakdown
of civility has become so noxious that it’s not possible to enjoy it anymore.
If my guy wins, he will have a devil of a four years trying to get his agenda
passed.

And I DO believe that the process of electing a government—such
a special right we have here in the United States—ought to be enjoyable, even
while serious and vitally, vitally important. I feel like it ought to be
possible to discuss issues, and disagree with friends about them, without
worrying about receiving a hundred hate-filled emails filled with ad hominem
attacks. I feel like my daughter ought to be able to tell her classmates whom
her parents support without being surrounded in the hall and tormented (and it’s
not like we are voting for either a socialist or a libertarian—regardless of
what either side says!).

Most of all, though, I want to be able to vote for my
president and local representatives with the confidence that they are going to
be thoughtful about the decisions they make and the votes they cast. I don’t WANT to see lock-step adherence to a platform, or swift punishment
for deviation. It’s forcing politicians all over the country to abandon any
creativity or subjectivity in the name of party orthodoxy. The system is
perverted and broken.

It’s not that incivility and political hatred and
divisiveness are new concepts, whether in the US (cf: Andrew Jackson, Tammany
Hall, Wallace, on and on…) or abroad. It’s that this is among the first elections in the
Information Age, where social media and cable networks are powerful enough to pull
the sides apart rather than engaging in any kind of productive conversation,
and unregulated organizations who are interested in particular issues are able
to flood your inbox and Facebook feeds as well as the airwaves.

With all this depression—and the knowledge that I’m spitting
in the wind, that the conversation isn’t going to improve any time soon—there are
still very significant factors that keep me proud, that remind me that the
United States is a remarkable and exciting experiment in institutional
civility. I know, for example, that regardless of the result today, there is
unlikely to be either rioting in the streets or independent militias marching
on Washington, DC. There may be gridlock in Congress (sob!), but not Civil War.
That may feel like a pretty lame leap—that I’m only proud that there won’t be
WAR—but talk to a citizen of Egypt if
you think that’s farfetched.

This evening, after I leave work, I will meet Amanda and the
kids and we will vote in the public school down the block from our home. We
will wait in line past the PA bake sale, wend our way to the cafeteria. Like generations of children before, my daughters
will stand in front of me and tick off name after name, and hop past the
brownies toward Columbus Avenue. We will smile nervously at those folks still
waiting on line, then we will go home, turn on the television, and open our
first bottle of wine.

November 05, 2012

Okay, so you've heard it from 100 different sources by now, but the fact is, Hurricane Sandy/Superstorm Sandy/Frankenstorm/Stormzilla barrelled through the east coast of the U.S., laying siege to much and doing so much damage that the hyperbole machine in television news was left bereft of superlatives to overuse.

Suffice it to say, this storm had a particular vendetta for my home state, aiming straight for the Jersey Shore, apparently unaware that this was going to be the last season for Snooki and The Situation anyway, and it needn't have bothered.

The
roller coaster on the Seaside Heights boardwalk, depicted on the cover of OLD HAUNTS, is no longer there; it was last seen headed toward Great Britain, where it has no doubt heard antiquated amusement rides are treated well based on the testimony of a really big Ferris wheel.

Millions of people lost electrical power. I was among them, but we were lucky: Ours stayed off for only two days. Many have had it much worse, losing the ability to communicate, to work, to eat. People are without drinkable water. People are without homes. Trees toppled--they didn't just lose branches; they fell over. Onto houses, cars, people. The death toll is rising.

Don't get me started on the gasoline thing.

On the upside, the candle industry will no doubt see a surge, as will the flashlight business, the canned foods business and the board game business. I have a greater appreciation for the Amish than ever before, and I only had to live like that for 46 hours.

This is not to make light of people's suffering; many have been devastated. If there's a place to which you can donate (see Erin's post here), please do--a lot of New Jerseyans, New Yorkers and people in 18 other states (!) need help. Whole lives, even when no one was injured, were swept away. The entire coastline in New Jersey and on Long Island is in tatters; I saw
cars encased in sand, buildings demolished by trees, beach erosion, boardwalks disappeared. People who made their living amusing the tourists during the summer season are going to have to decide if it's worth rebuilding, or if they have to join the large numbers of unemployed already trying to navigate a hideous job market.

Until last week, I agreed with Chris Christie perhaps only on the proposal that his name was Chris Christie (although I still find that a little dubious). But he did what a governor should do in a crisis like that--and it was an unprecedented crisis in New Jersey--he looked out for the people of his state and let nothing else distract him. Kudos, governor, and don't ever expect me to say that again.

What last week proved is that you can't assume anything. You can't plan confidently, assured that your blueprint is foolproof. You can't ever figure that you control every aspect of your life. We have been told time and again in the past week that Sandy (and can we get scarier names for these storms--who's afraid of Sandy?) was not an aberration--the new climate we've helped create will see to it that these monsters happen on a more frequent basis.

If there's something you've always want to do, do it. You don't know what's around the corner.

P.S. To our American readers: You might not have heard, but there's an election tomorrow. People on the Jersey Shore who have no electrical power are being allowed to vote online (without power?), by fax (see previous parenthetical statement), or bused to places where there is electricity so they can vote. You have no excuse. I'm not going to tell you who I think you should vote for unless you ask me, but I will say that you need to vote. Yes, you. Get your butt to the polls and cast a ballot. Yes. You.

November 04, 2012

If I were a mystery writer, I would want to know how to market my book to libraries. Well, the answer is, you can't. You can't "market" to most libraries, because they make decisions based on reviews, not ads or free bookmarks or a even a bang-up platform.

I work in an academic library, so we don't buy as many mysteries as a public library would. But we do buy books every month for our "leisure reading" section, and we have many mysteries in the stacks. Public libraries, of course, buy multiple copies of popular mysteries; we don't do that in academic libraries. Still, I thought y'all might like to know how we do it at CC.

Lana Slaton, our main decision-maker for mysteries, tells me that phone calls and flyers have no effect upon her purchasing. Her chief requirements are, in no particular order:

the book should be not just
good genre entertainment, but literary fiction with great descriptions,
character development, dialogue and underlying themes, and lovely and unique
observations that make it memorable and worthy of keeping in the collection, like the mysteries by James Lee Burke and Reginald Hill.

it might be
something college students would find fun or interesting to read, like the
Stephanie Plum or Spellman series.

it could be by well-known, highly regarded
and/or prize winning authors the library collects.
In continuing a series or
author, sometimes the only thing to go by is the number of check-outs the first
one receives.

it could be a prize winner or
nominee, or listed in end-of-year best-of lists from
Library Journal, the New York Times Book Review, Amazon Editors’ Choices,
Publishers Weekly Best of, LA Times, others.

it could be reviewed in
standard review publications such as Publisher’s Weekly, the New York Times Book Review, the Denver Post, and others.

Lana isn't solely responsible for each and every mystery in our collection, of course; she buys books requested by other library staff or by Colorado College faculty or staff. Word-of-mouth comes into play, too.

Before Lana
makes a final choice on something iffy, she reads a few customer reviews on Amazon (she says "you
can usually tell who is crazy and who is an informed reader, just to get an
idea of what sort of audience it will appeal to"). If possible she reads the first page or two using the "look inside" feature on Amazon. She tells me "Sometimes the first
page of a book, say Turtle Moon by Alice Hoffman, which is sort of a mystery, tells you
all you need to know about style and substance."

So, that's how we do it here. For a more general, official kind of statement about marketing books to libraries, see the American Library Association's webpage on the topic.

November 03, 2012

Family, friends, home and business have come through the
storm unscathed. My mood should be lighter; it’s time to get on with
things. Yet I have a sense of loss,
certainly not loss of innocence at my age, but of something similar. We have
all experienced events in our lives that have taught us how transitory our
sense of security really is, how random events outside our control can turn
things upside down in an instant. I have a friend who says we are all “the
walking wounded.” Yet when things roll along nicely for long periods, we forget
those lessons. This week’s events in New
Jersey and surrounding states are a harsh reminder.

Pictures and verbal descriptions of destruction and loss are
everywhere, but certain ones seem to hit home more than others. This morning’s
newspaper, which I squinted at as the sun rose and I savored my one cup of
coffee from the local convenience store (yes, we have no electricity at home,
but it seems a minor difficulty), showed our governor with his arm around a man
who had lost both his dream retirement home and a rental property that was probably
his source of income. His well-planned-out
later years are now chaos. My thoughts were that at 30, 40, or even 50
people can recover and rebuild; there comes a time in life when one is running
out of time.

An essay on CNN.com
yesterday expressed the feelings that millions of us who
grew up in places like New York or Philadelphia or their surrounding
communities have about the Jersey Shore: we spent the summers of our childhoods
and young adulthoods there, and the loss seems to be of memories as well as
places. Like the author, I have seen beautiful beaches in Bermuda, the Bahamas,
Antigua and other tropical islands, but there’s nothing like New Jersey. No, we don’t own summer homes there and often
haven’t visited in years. I haven’t spent a vacation, outside of an occasional
long autumn weekend in Cape May, at the Jersey Shore since my son was a child.
But I encouraged him and his girlfriend, who is from the South of France, to
spend some time there in September; they were visiting from London and wanted
to go to North Carolina beaches. Instead, they traveled from the southernmost
resort, Cape May, to Ocean City, to Atlantic City, to Asbury Park, and I’m
certainly glad their pictures are of “before.”

Before our generator gave up the ghost on Tuesday, after
weathering the storm, I saw on image on television that made what was happening
to New York more real to me than any of the others. Again, it involved
memories. Water was rushing along West
23rd Street; I turned to my husband and said, “Look, it’s The Half
King!” While my husband attended seminary from 2001 to 2004, we were fortunate
to have an apartment in the Chelsea area, and The Half King was one of our
favorite local haunts. Many a late brunch on Sunday there! Our sojourn in New York
began the first week in September in 2001, and following events were
devastating, but that is a story for another time. We had not yet become
attached to the city; now the damaged locales are very real to us and part of
our lives.

I don’t mean to make it sound as if these emotional losses
can in any way compare to the loss of life and destruction of homes and
businesses that so many are suffering. The memories of and relationships with
these places make the suffering of those who are bearing the brunt of the
disaster more tangible. I felt bad for the people in New Orleans and the Gulf
Coast after Katrina; I donated and I prayed. But New Orleans is a faraway
place. New Jersey is my home; New York was also, not so long ago. It’s my
neighbors who are in need. I second Erin in soliciting your donations,
particularly to the Red
Cross, which has been my choice for giving. And as the fickle attention of
the news media turns to other topics, particularly with the election next week,
remember that the need for food, shelter, and rebuilding will last a lot
longer.

At times like this, I try to keep gratitude in the forefront
of my thinking; it keeps things in perspective. Besides the foremost, the
safety of those I care for and the lack of damage to our home, here are a few things
I’m grateful for:

GOOD NEIGHBORS: When
our generator, which we have had for many years because power outages are not
uncommon in our area, died the day after the storm, our first need was water;
the well pump runs on electricity. We ran hoses between the outdoor faucets of
our homes and are using the water of a neighbor (whose generator is working.)
This neighbor refuses to take any of our stockpile of gasoline, which is in
short supply, because after Hurricane Irene last year, it was extension cords,
rather than hoses, running from his house to our generator. We’re all in this
together.

INGENUITY: We
actually do have a working generator. It produces 1 kilowatt of electricity,
and is usually used for the weed-whacker and chain saw at the far reaches of
our property. We are able to run exactly one household circuit from it. The one
chosen controls the furnace, which fortunately is fueled by natural gas and
only requires electricity for the starter and the fan. A bonus was finding out
that the hot water heater is on the same circuit. Not just heat and water, but
hot water!

NO RAIN: The small generator will never run our massive sump
pumps, but Sandy brought little rain, mostly wind. And the weather has stayed
gloomy but dry.

MIDWESTERNERS:
Another generator is being shipped from Illinois and should arrive
before the next predicted nor’easter midweek. The people there were very
sympathetic, and were happy to expedite the packing and delivery. The way
things go, the power will probably come on just before it arrives. But this isn’t
the last storm, and when the old one is repaired, we will have a backup or one
to share.

MISCELLANEOUS:

1. Power stayed on at my book shop, so business was only
interrupted while streets were blocked by trees. Phone and Internet are also
working.

2. The Newark Star-Ledger has continued to publish and DELIVER! Even when power was out in the entire city of
Newark, they found a way to get the news to those of us lacking television and
internet. They missed Tuesday, but Wednesday morning when I returned from the
coffee run, I saw the familiar yellow bag in the newspaper box. I was sure that
I had gotten the paper in on Monday, and couldn’t believe that one had been delivered.
I had just taken a four-mile detour to get to town, and we are pretty remote in
the best of times. Extra tip for the carrier this month, and kudos to the whole
Star-Ledger staff; I love my printed
word, and it was an extra comfort.

3. The “crazy” neighbor (other side from our helpful
friends), who usually makes life miserable for everyone, had the tree which
fell from his property onto our lawn removed already. We were just happy it
didn’t hit the house, and thought it was now ours to deal with. How he got
someone to do this job when most are prioritizing removing trees that are on
homes, or blocking roads and driveways, is a mystery.

4. Phone service is also out, and although this means no
Internet, it also means no political robocalls.

5. Defrosting the freezer in the basement and giving the refrigerator
a major clean-out have been crossed off the “to-do” list.

The gratitude seems to have lightened my somber mood a bit.
I still don’t see much that is humorous, but life will return to normal. The
things that are gone will not be the same when rebuilt, but time and
redevelopment have taken other places that remain only in our memories. And we
go on.

November 02, 2012

It started with Sandy. We all know what happened, but I fear
that few of us fully realize the ferocious impact the storm continues to have
on the humans inhabiting New York and its environs. I’ve heard stories of
horrific devastation and great kindness on the part of those trying to help. This
report from one such volunteer pains a stark and frightening picture, and is
well worth a read.

And because I’d be remiss in not mentioning this: In the
hours before and then right through Sandy’s arrival, I was online, and I was
horrified to see that people—including authors—were still posting and sending marketing
messages. “Download my book before the power goes out!” Really? I didn’t think
this needed to be said, but here goes:

When there is a major natural disaster imminent or happening
that affects a large portion of your audience (aka, fellow human beings), hit “pause”
on your marketing messages. Take a break. Show some respect. Spend your energy
elsewhere. Thank you.

In other news, Amazon seems to have finally acknowledged that
their review system has problems, and they’ve responded by making it even
worse. It seems that legitimate reviews posted by authors are being deleted.
Far from addressing the real sockpuppet issues, this slash-and-burn policy only
proves that Amazon has yet to get it. And worse, they haven’t even bothered to
explain this new policy in their review
guidelines. Steve Weddle explains what’s happened in this post.
One of the emails he received from Amazon said:

We do not allow reviews on behalf
of a person or company with a financial interest in the product or a directly
competing product. This includes authors, artists, publishers, manufacturers,
or third-party merchants selling the product. As a result, we've removed your
reviews for this title.

This seems to mean that according to Amazon, authors,
publishers, and people who work in bookstores aren’t legitimate readers.

This week also saw the arrival of November, which means the
US presidential election is in the home stretch. Whatever your political
persuasion, I think we can all agree that this has been the harshest election
cycle in memory. If you don’t know where to vote (and even if you think you do,
because polling places occasionally move), Google has a helpful tool
here that will provide your polling place as well as a ballot summary.

Finally, should you happen to be reading this from anywhere
in the vicinity of Milwaukee, I hope to see you at Murder
and Mayhem in Muskego next Saturday, November 10.